Another Form of Art
by LianneZ4
Summary: When they come to Europe, Neal and Mozzie decide to pull a heist that the world hasn't seen yet. Pre-series, "wacky hijinks and zany schemes".
1. Prologue

**ANOTHER FORM OF ART**

**Summary: When they come to Europe, Neal and Mozzie decide to pull a heist that the world hasn't seen yet. Pre-series, "wacky hijinks and zany schemes".**

_A/N: This story was written for veleda_k during the wc-pairing exchange and previously posted on livejournal. _

_The credit for betaing this fic goes to **rabidchild67**, and I also need to thank my friend **November Leaving** for being a great cheerleader._

_The story has five parts in total that I'll post over the next few days. Please, enjoy!_

* * *

**Prologue**

It was late in the evening. In a cozy room lit by faint, warm light, two men were sitting around a table, enjoying cool beer, cheese and crisps and good-naturally bantering and boasting about their respective lives and careers.

Suddenly, the eyes of one of them stilled at the newspapers that was laid on the table.

_**Daily News - Culture section**_

'_**Girl and Boy', a mostly unknown study done by Picasso, lent to a local museum **_

"_It is a true pleasure to announce that Mrs. Amanda Hoffmand, a very gracious and respectable lady with deep love of art, has decided to lend the "Girl and Boy" to our humble exhibition," states Mr. Steffan, the curator of the - _

The rest of the article was hidden under the plate of crisps.

"It's a nice piece," said Jack Rodgers as he swallowed a gulp of beer and placed his glass back on the table.

"A _nice piece_? Are you serious? It's beauty underappreciated," replied Neal intensely. He shook his head before he picked up a few pieces of cheese and leaned back into his armchair. _"Nice piece…"_

His companion grinned at him. "You a fan of Dutch painters?"

"Some of them," replied Neal honestly. "You?"

"Some of them," echoed Rodgers.

They both laughed before they settled for a moment of comfortable silence.

"So, what was the most interesting score you allegedly ever went after?" asked Neal after a while.

"The _alleged _score… Let me think," replied Rodgers and his forehead wrinkled.

Neal took a sip of his beer and further relaxed in his armchair.

He and Moz had met Rodgers the day before, when they had been casing (_"Just looking!", Mozzie had insisted, but Neal had been sure he would change his mind_) the local museum for the Picasso's painting they had noticed in the newspaper. Neal had already had the heist half-planned when he had noticed a red-haired man approximately his age, wearing well-tailored clothes and scanning the area with the sharp eyes that didn't belong to the usual visitor.

They had observed the man as he had familiarized himself with the security cameras and the guards, as he had slowly walked through the rest of the museum and then left without raising the slightest suspicion.

For their own security, they decided to check him out. Finally, they had their answer – the man was Jack Rodgers, he wasn't local and as far as they could tell, he was a thief, not a cop.

For Mozzie, the subject had been therefore closed. He hadn't been interested in the painting in the first place.

For Neal, it became a challenge.

The next day, he approached Rodgers in a local restaurant. After a lot of careful, mutual probing, their talk had slowly gone from "in theory" to "possibly" and "maybe". Eventually, they left the restaurant – and here they were, late in the evening, drinking and joking and still testing each other, with the subject of the painting still unresolved between them.

"How about we make a bet?" suggested Rodgers suddenly, his tone betraying that he was already drunk. Neal wasn't much better off.

"A bet?" he asked.

"A goddamn freaking bet," nodded Rodgers. "The 'Girl and Boy'," he said slowly. "We both want it. How about we make a bet for it?"

Neal smiled. "What do you have in mind?"

An hour or two later, he and Rodgers parted ways, and Neal watched the rain outside with a goofy smile.

He was looking forward to telling Moz that they had a new job.

* * *

_Any feedback is deeply appreciated._


	2. Part I

**ANOTHER FORM OF ART**

**Summary: When they come to Europe, Neal and Mozzie decide to pull a heist that the world hasn't seen yet. Pre-series, "wacky hijinks and zany schemes".**

_A/N: This fic was betaed by **rabidchild67**, and I also need to thank my friend **November Leaving** for being a great cheerleader._

* * *

**Part I**

**_"You want WHAT?!"_**

It was a beautiful morning. The sun shone lightly on their balcony, the air was fresh thanks to the rain of the past night. Breakfast was delicious. Simply, everything was perfect.

"Was" as in past tense, thought Moz murderously in the face of Neal's smile and shocking statement.

"This is a joke, right?" asked Mozzie hopefully.

"Actually..."

"My ears played a trick on me."

"I think it's quite funny."

"Hey, I got it! It's the April Fool's Day thing. Except in April, we didn't have time to celebrate, because the Feds spoiled our party, so now you're making up for it – "

"This isn't a joke, Moz!"

For maybe half a minute, Mozzie stared at Neal with disbelief. Then he laughed: "Neal, your 'totally honest' expression is improving. You really got me this time."

"Could you stop it, Moz?" exclaimed Neal, his voice now full of irritation. "It's really getting on my nerves."

Mozzie tore off his toupee and scratched his bald head. "It's real, then?" he asked pitifully.

Neal gave him an innocent smile and sipped his orange juice. "It's doable, right?"

Mozzie stood up and went to his liquor cupboard for a bottle of whiskey.

Behind him, Neal rolled his eyes. "Come on, Moz. What would life be without a little surprise and excitement?"

"Let me guess... safer?" asked Mozzie sarcastically.

"It's so boring here!" exclaimed Neal. "Tell me, honestly, that you aren't at least a bit bored!"

Mozzie pretended to ignore him.

"My whiskey is gone," he said mournfully and shot Neal a glare.

"Well..." Neal hesitated, "I guess me and Rodgers sort of borrowed it..."

Mozzie made a mental note that when Neal owned his own alcohol collection, he would have to invite himself to a bottle or two... to even the score, of course.

He quietly said a last goodbye to his whiskey and returned to Neal empty handed.

"Fine. Let's be rational." He took a deep breath. "Even if this doesn't lead Moser and his goons on our trail... if we somehow manage to steal it... if we don't get caught and if this doesn't attract the attention of all the local and international police agencies... What are we going to do with the, ah, score?"

Neal shrugged. "No idea," he admitted carelessly.

Mozzie silently counted to ten.

"But think of it," continued Neal brightly. "It's probably never been done before. It's like becoming a part of history!"

"When we get caught like two idiots," protested Moz sharply. "Neal, I hate to be the spoilsport on this, but we need to face the facts. It's been barely a month since we conned Moser out of his fifty grand. The _pieces_ of the last man who robbed him were found swimming in the river – sans skin. If he gets wind of us, he'll have us gutted, alive."

"Moser would never think we could be behind this," said Neal confidently.

"You thought he'd never notice we pulled one over on him," Mozzie pointed out.

"And you agreed with me," shrugged Neal. "We both thought it would be an easy touch. Robbing an obnoxious jerk who thought he was robbing me and the government; who couldn't go to police without implicating himself and risking that his other frauds would come up… You have to admit it seemed perfect."

"Yes, right until we found out he was a mobster with a gutting-people habit," said Moz dryly.

"Hmm. I agree that sort of spoiled the fun."

Mozzie gave a deep sigh.

They were staying in a hotel a long way from New York and the whole US for that matter. A few months back, things had gotten complicated there, so the two conmen answered Europe's call and opted to create havoc on the other side of the pond, passing through cities and countries as they came to their minds.

Neal was completely in his element. Mozzie… well, he had to admit it was fun, working with someone as smart and skilled as Neal.

_Sometimes, however, Neal was a tad too reckless._

It wasn't that Mozzie liked playing things safe; he never would have gotten so far with that philosophy. But he had learned to recognize when certain risks were unnecessary.

He spoke with patience. "Look. I know this is not exactly the way we planned this, but it's just for a few more weeks until Moser hopefully calms down and my guy fixes the misunderstanding. We can go to Paris afterwards. Or, I've heard that Rome is nice this time of year – though I warn you that my Italian is even worse than my German."

"Paris would be nice," said Neal thoughtfully. "But… I think we should head back to New York."

And here it was.

"I haven't hard anything about Kate yet," said Mozzie quietly.

At the mere mention of her name, a shadow passed over Neal's face. That meant, realized Moz belatedly, that she hadn't been on his mind before.

Since Copenhagen and Neal's return to New York, Mozzie had been doing his best to help Neal move on. It was a good sign, a sign of healing, that Kate and New York no longer automatically came as an equation to Neal. With every con, Neal was becoming more and more himself, as opposed to the broken figure that Moz found at his doorstep a few months ago.

And now he had reminded Neal of Kate again.

"She was right, you know," said Neal with a sad, slightly crooked smile. "You really look better without that toupee."

Mozzie chuckled, but it sounded hollow even to his own ears. Neal turned away and took in a sharp breath.

Seeing the pain in Neal's face, Moz cursed himself again for bringing up Kate's name. He should have been more careful. This was _exactly_ what he had been hoping to avoid.

For a second, he fleetingly wondered when Neal's well-being had become so important to him. He forcefully pushed that thought away.

"So you have no leads on her?" asked Neal after a moment.

"Not yet," replied Mozzie. "But I'm sure something will come up," he added cheerfully.

"That's good," smiled Neal.

_If he didn't sound like they just drowned his puppy, Moz might even believe him._

"So," asked Mozzie eventually to break the silence, "when you wanted to go back to New York, did you have anything in mind in particular?"

"Well, New York is full of opportunities," replied Neal.

"That's right," agreed Moz, ready to avert their talk from the dangerous topic. "There are numerous options – the Met, the Queens… Or we could pick something less conspicuous."

"Exactly," said Neal, his charming façade back in place. Then he beamed. "But what I was actually thinking… I think I should check on Agent Burke. I need to know if he's getting closer. I could break into his office – "

"WHAT?!" yelled Mozzie and almost fell off his chair. "Neal, you can't be serious! That's even crazier than your newest... scheme... "

Mozzie's voice trailed off.

"Okay, that was just an idea," said Neal. "But we could –"

Mozzie cut him off: "Wait."

Neal looked at him.

"You're trying to persuade me to settle for the less harmful option," stated Mozzie slowly in realization. "You really want to go through with this – craziness." He picked up his glass of water and thoughtfully ran his fingers over it. "But why?"

Neal lifted his eyebrows. "I don't know what you're talking about – "

"Neal."

"Moz."

Mozzie glared at his friend.

Neal stared at him with his wide blue honest eyes.

"Oh my God," exclaimed Mozzie suddenly. "Someone is forcing you. Neal, you can tell me – no, you can't," he corrected himself, "or they might – of course – but we could – I knew this was a conspiracy," he exclaimed in triumph. "The question is," he said thoughtfully, "why would anyone want you to steal... **_a tram?_**"

o o o

The greatest thing about Mozzie's paranoia was that it made him perceptive to risks that Neal might occasionally miss. The worst thing was that it made him question Neal's love life, attend dubious meetings with his fellow conspiracy theorists - and ask too many questions.

"I told you. Rodgers and I were talking about various scams and stuff. He said it couldn't be done, I believed the opposite. I want to try it."

Mozzie immediately shook his head. "That's not all. There's more to this story; something you're not telling me. But don't worry my friend, I'll find out! If there's anybody trying to do us harm, they will be very sorry."

Neal shook his head in dismay. "Moz…"

"Still, a tram? I don't understand why – "

"It was a bet!" blurted Neal finally.

"What?"

"Rodgers and I made a bet," said Neal more quietly. "I steal the tram, he steals… something else. Whoever succeeds is named a professional thief and gets to steal the 'Girl and Boy'."

"You betted on who could go after the painting?"

"Exactly," confirmed Neal.

"Oh."

Neal already regretted his honesty when he saw the wheels in Mozzie's head turning.

"So you made a bet," murmured Mozzie. He shook his head. "Neal, bets are serious business… You'll have to talk to Rodgers and hope he's willing to call this whole thing off – "

"I can't," admitted Neal with a sigh.

"Why not?"

"We made a contract," explained Neal and pulled out his own copy. He briefly showed it to Moz, who took it with a look of suspicion. He ignored Mozzie's lifted eyebrows at his sloppy writing and quickly plucked the paper back from his hands. "We both have to make an honest attempt."

"Define 'honest'," Mozzie chuckled. Then his eyes narrowed. "Wait a second – you _signed_ this thing?"

"As an alias," assured him Neal hastily.

Mozzie clutched his head in horror. "You _signed_ it? With your current alias? The one we used to pay for this hotel room and everything else?"

"Look, we have five days to pull the whole thing off," said Neal and did his best to ignore Mozzie's disbelief. "Are you going to help me or not?"

_"Five days?!"_

"Yep," replied Neal cheerfully.

Mozzie shook his head. "That's it, then. It can't be done. Tell Rodgers that you're forfeiting. Then we should probably leave before things get too hot here."

"I can't," replied Neal immediately.

Mozzie gave him a look. "Neal, I understand that you like that painting, but – "

"That's not the reason," interrupted him Neal. "I literally _can't_ forfeit the bet."

"Why not?" asked Mozzie after a pause.

"That's not important," said Neal quickly. "You said it yourself, we have just five days. We should get to planning; find out where they keep the trams in this city, figure out how this can be done – "

Mozzie _looked_ at him.

Neal gave him a charming smile.

"Okay," said Moz at last. "You obviously don't want to tell me the details. Just… tell me what I need to know."

"You're not worried we should be lying low because of Moser anymore?" asked Neal curiously.

"Forget Moser," retorted Mozzie. "What's going on?"

o o o

Mozzie closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Then he opened them.

He ran his head over what Neal had just told him.

They were going to steal a tram.

("A black tram," Neal had corrected him.)

For the tram to count as "stolen", they needed to transport it out of the city.

They had five days to do it.

And Neal couldn't back out of the bet because of a clause in the agreement that said that…

"…that whoever backs out of the bet has to stand as a model for one of Sofiyanski's statues," explained Neal grimly.

"I've heard of him," said Mozzie unhappily. "Supposedly, he's a genius sculptor."

A pause.

"It could be that the rumors about his tastes are… exaggerated," said Neal without much hope.

"It's said that everyone who ever stood as a model for him refused to do it again," said Mozzie after a moment of silence. "Supposedly, one of his models called him a raving lunatic. She said she'd rather work in a smallpox colony – "

"It was a malaria colony," jumped in Neal.

Mozzie lifted his eyebrows.

"We… laughed about it with Rodgers," murmured Neal.

_There was a mob guy after them. Neal's bet meant to pull a heist that would attract all the attention they didn't need; without any real payoff. _

_In another reality, this was the moment when Mozzie walked away._

"All right," he said. "You have to honor the bet; otherwise this could give you a bad name. Unless Rodgers is willing to call it off… ?"

"Well, I could ask him," said Neal without enthusiasm.

Mozzie considered that.

Without doubt, Moz could say that Neal was the best partner he had worked with yet. Suddenly, backing out of the bet seemed like putting limits on their abilities.

"No," he said resolutely. "You will do nothing of the sort."

"Does that mean you're in?" asked Neal.

"What do you think?"

They shared a smile.

"We're gonna win this bet," said Mozzie confidently.

"And then we'll go after the painting," continued Neal fluently.

"Exactly," said Moz. "But now, let's figure out how to steal your goddamn tram."

* * *

_Feedback is very much appreciated._


	3. Part II

**ANOTHER FORM OF ART**

_A/N: This fic has been betaed by **rabidchild67** and **November Leaving**. _

_Enjoy!_

* * *

**Part II**

_Steal a tram. What a simple task._

It wasn't, as Neal had eloquently put it, like stealing a painting, a piece of jewelry or even a car. A tram was big, heavy and limited by its tracks.

In his paranoia, Mozzie had once again swept their hotel rooms for bugs before they settled for some serious planning. Neal didn't bother telling him that if they _had_ been bugged, at this point they had already implicated themselves more than enough. Instead, he cleared the table and got them some pencils and paper. He had a feeling they might need them.

"Okay, this seems like one huge mess right now, so let's take it easy. We break it in parts and deal with a few smaller problems, then we put it all together," suggested Neal when Mozzie was finally done with his hobby and joined him at the table.

"One step at a time. I like it," said Moz. "All right then, proceed."

"Right. First, we need to get to our tram – "

"A _black_ tram," Mozzie corrected. "Which, by the way, makes even less sense than just _a_ tram. Is there some sort of urban legend, or were you two guys going Batman or Zorro or something?"

"Very funny. I think we can pick any tram and just paint it," said Neal shortly.

"That simplifies things a bit," nodded Mozzie. "Just getting to a tram shouldn't be that much of a problem."

"Okay, so let's assume we acquire a tram. We need to get it out of town. Even if we knew how to drive it, we wouldn't get past the city limits," stated Neal. "How do they transport them anyway? They have to get the new trams into the city somehow. Do they use trucks or something?"

"Too big and heavy for that," Mozzie shook his head. "However, the tracks for trams have the same width as those for regular trains, so…"

"… they use train tracks," finished Neal in realization. He paused. "Wait… you mean that there are places where the train tracks and tram tracks are connected?"

"Exactly," confirmed Mozzie. "At least, there should be. We'll need to find a place like that – "

" – and _that's_ how we'll get our tram out of the city," exclaimed Neal and slapped his palm on the table.

Ever since he felt that the immediate threat of becoming one of Sofiyanski's models had been averted (because when Mozzie said they would do it, then their attempt _would_ at least be reasonably good), he started to look at the details of their situation – and began questioning the sanity of his bet. He had reviewed its wording in the vain hope that perhaps there was another way to fulfill it, only to reach the conclusion that yes, he had actually agreed to transport a huge mass of steel and glass.

But Mozzie's tiny scrap of knowledge about the track system gave Neal hope that maybe this was actually doable. He started to see seeds of a plan, and that was more than they had before.

"We will need to borrow a train though," pulled him Mozzie out of his thoughts.

"Borrow…?"

"Well, not a _whole_ train," explained Mozzie. "Just the locomotive."

"A – train," repeated Neal. Any light feelings from before were crushed by that one sentence from Mozzie's lips.

He felt a strange twitch in his hands, so he picked up a pencil and started scribbling doodles on the paper. Then he noticed Mozzie's eyes on him and stopped.

"It will be a bit trickier than getting to a tram," said Mozzie seriously. "But it's not a challenge we can't work out. So you don't need to worry about our little Tom Thumb. We can free it from the evil society's clutches – "

"Moz, we already have a _tram_ on our schedule!" burst Neal at last.

"Exactly," said Mozzie solemnly. "And if we want to steal it, we're gonna need the train for it. A tram is not suited for using the railway electricity system, _but_ we can attach it to our locomotive. Then, we can transport them both out of the city."

_A train._

Neal suppressed a sudden surge of dread. Instead, he plastered on a perfect smile. "Sure. Why not. We'll _borrow_ a train."

"Okay." Mozzie reached over the table and picked a discarded pen.

"This is the city," he said as he drew a big circle on the paper. "This…" he drew a smaller circle inside the big one and marked it with a few X marks, "is the city's tram system. There are stations, crossroads, tram depots and a few more things we'll need to take into account. Then there is the railway station…"

…

"Hey Moz, say, by any chances… do you at least know how to drive them?" asked Neal about fifteen minutes later when they had roughly outlined their plan.

"More or less," said Mozzie lightly. "One of my usual fences also had a legitimate life as an engineer. He drove trains from New York to Boston. Once or twice, he showed me the inside of a train cabin."

"Please tell me we can get him here in the next five days?" asked Neal hopefully.

"Sorry man," said Mozzie with a sigh. "Reed's in jail now – for tax evasions, of all things. But I've learned quite a bit."

If this was Mozzie's attempt not to worry him more than was strictly necessary, then it was failing quite badly, thought Neal.

"Are you sure you can do it?" he asked dubiously.

"Have no fear, my friend, I have it under control," smiled Mozzie peacefully. "Just take care of your part of the job."

"Right," said Neal. Since he had no better plan, he had no other choice than to trust Mozzie's abilities. "Okay. What about the tram?" he asked hesitantly.

"Driving a tram is child's play – you just press buttons and watch out for cars and retirees," answered Mozzie confidently.

"Have you ever done it before?"

"Not exactly. … Look, all we need are a few manuals and a little research," lifted his hand Moz in a calming gesture.

"Great," said Neal sarcastically.

Suddenly, he realized how much of their plan depended on Mozzie's word that he could do this. He had put his faith in people before, and the moment when he had grown too comfortable, the world did a U-turn on him and things spanned out of control.

That was ridiculous. There was no reason to think this would happen with Mozzie, Neal told himself firmly.

"There's a whole bunch of work before us," said Mozzie.

Neal nodded. "Then we'd better start right away."

o o o

_Some things never change._

Some people find the consistency of many of the universe's aspects soothing. Mozzie however thought it was very practical, especially for a thief and conman in a foreign city.

At the beginning of his career, he had discovered that most US cities had several aspects in common. Later, he found that Europe wasn't an exception to these rules.

Right now, what he needed was public traffic at its most overflowing stage.

It was six p.m., and Mozzie was pressed against the glass of a tram driver's cabin in the busiest line in the city. He was completely squeezed between a huge man with a briefcase, an old woman with a small, rabid dog and a band of loud teenagers.

He was perfectly, absolutely inconspicuous. He was also quite out of breath.

"Excuse me?" choked Mozzie and tried to wriggle a little space for himself.

The tall man didn't even look at him as he stepped on his foot. The dog growled at him. Then Moz was suddenly pressed even harder against the cabin glass as more people pushed themselves into the tram when its alarm started beeping and blinking and the door began to close.

"Ugh!" grunted Moz as someone's elbow landed in his stomach.

_You really owe me for this, Neal_, he thought when the tram finally started to move.

He caught a breath in a vain attempt to stop suffocating. Then he turned his attention back to the driver of the tram and continued to observe – and learn.

_(He had also lifted three wallets, mostly out of annoyance of being smothered by the crowd. He then returned them to their owners – sans cash. He would need a strong drink after this, and he had more than earned it, rationalized Mozzie.)_

Seven stations later, most of the crowd had dissipated. Mozzie stepped out as well. He looked around and waited for a minute or two. Then he crossed the street to the other platform. A minute later, he boarded another tram.

And the torture started anew.

o o o

Meanwhile, Neal stepped off of the bus as he finally reached the state's capital.

Half an hour later, he was standing before the Directorate of Railroads and Railway Service. Dressed in casual jeans and a T-shirt with a bag across his back, he ran his hand through his hair to further match his image to one of the local teenagers. Then he entered the building.

_A small entrance hall with a turnstile that required a chip card to pass. Two staircases, one up, one down. A security station with a janitor inside; there were four screens displaying various parts of the building. A direction board, telling that the building had four floors and many offices. And finally, cameras – the visible area was well covered by cameras._

Neal took that all in as he entered the hall and confidently walked to the janitor – a man in his fifties who looked like he had just swallowed something sour.

"Good evening," greeted him Neal with a polite, charming smile. "I'm Sebastian Ebner; I'm supposed to meet here with my cousin, Mr. Fisher? He works on the third floor – "

"And that concerns me how?" asked the man flatly.

"I thought maybe you'd let me in?" Neal frowned. "You see, he told me to meet him outside at six, but it's six twenty and he's still not there, so I was wondering – "

"Forget it, kid," said the janitor in disdain.

"But I thought – "

"You thought _**wrong**_," snapped the man. "Now get out of here and _wait_ for your cousin outside."

"Fine! I'm out of here," retorted Neal and turned around. He stopped for a moment when he noticed several stacks of leaflets and pamphlets. He picked one and started folding it into an animal shape.

Then without another word, he walked out and closed the door behind himself.

o o o

"So, how did it go?" called Neal when he entered their hotel rooms. He was already back in his suit, the jeans and T-shirt packed in his bag. After he washed his hands and face, he found Mozzie in an armchair, nursing a glass of wine. To Neal's surprise, the corresponding bottle of Bordeaux was already halfway empty.

Mozzie shot him a narrow look. "Dante may have thought he knew how purgatory looked, but that was before public transport was invented."

"What's Hell, then?" asked Neal curiously.

"Having Big Brother's servants as in-laws," answered Mozzie promptly.

Neal laughed. "Come on, was it really so bad?"

"Worse," said Mozzie grimly. "I have battle scars. Also, I think I just contracted every disease that can be transmitted in close distance."

"Was it at least good for something?" asked Neal in worry.

"Of course it was good for something," exclaimed Mozzie and stood up. "Do you think I would have spent two hours in that mess if it wasn't necessary?"

Neal raised his hands in defense. "I didn't mean to offend you. You're the boss on this one. You know what's best."

"It's okay," said Mozzie, apparently properly mollified. He laid back into his armchair and closed his eyes.

Neal poured himself a glass of Bordeaux and sat next to him.

After minute of silence, Mozzie opened an eye and looked at Neal. "We're gonna need those manuals," he said. "I can only get so much from observation."

"I'll get on it tomorrow," promised Neal.

Mozzie closed his eye in agreement.

"We may have a setback," said Neal a moment later.

In jigtime, Mozzie pulled himself straight in his armchair, fully alert. "What happened?" he asked seriously.

"I went to the Directorate," said Neal. "The chip cards wouldn't be a problem, but the place is full of cameras, and from what I could tell, they're recording. We could still go there in daylight, but we would need to disrupt the tapes."

"That could attract attention," frowned Mozzie. "We can't afford that."

"I know," agreed Neal.

"I'm not saying we can't do it," said Moz. "Give me some time, and I'll toast those cameras. Or, we could do this at night."

"Climbing and ski masks! What else do we live for?" Neal made a brief smile before he turned serious. "There's another thing, though. The building has four floors filed with offices. I think we can cross out about half of them – "

" – but that still leaves us with too big a space to search," said Mozzie with a frown. "We can narrow it down further, but that would take time – "

" – which we don't have," finished Neal.

"Four days and a few hours," contemplated Mozzie. "Hmm. I don't have many contacts here; much less in the capital."

"Well, that's the downside of lying low," shrugged Neal. "We could try to con the plans and schedules out of them. There's so much bureaucracy involved, I think I can persuade them to give them to me."

"Paperwork and offices." Mozzie smiled. "I love it when the Man works for us."

"Yeah, better than working for him," said Neal seriously. "The problem is, when we finally steal our tram, the cops are gonna realize we needed those plans. They might come and ask questions – "

"And with the cameras, they could identify you," said Mozzie in comprehension. "Well, nighttime break-in it is, then."

Neal smiled.

"Actually, I think I might have another idea," he said. He put his hand in his pocket and pulled out an origami fox. Carefully, he unfolded it, revealing a battered leaflet for…

"A Museum of Shipping and Railroad Traffic," read Mozzie. His eyes widened as he looked at Neal and smiled. "And the museum – "

"– is in this town," said Neal triumphantly.

Mozzie shook his head. "How did I miss this?"

"It's just an idea, though," said Neal and dropped his smile. "It could be a waste of time."

"No," said Mozzie vehemently and slapped his hand on the leaflet. "No, I have a good feeling about this. Forget the Directorate! The people who go to this museum? That's where we'll get our schedules and track information."

"Speaking of which…" said Neal and turned around to pick up the bag he had dropped next to his armchair. "I've been to the public library. They _did_ have city plans – including tram tracks and train tracks. I photocopied these two maps…" he pulled them out of his bag. "If I cross-reference them, I'll get a few places that we can then check personally. That shouldn't take too long."

"And then we'll know where exactly our tram will meet with its bigger, better-travelled counterpart," exclaimed Moz in triumph. "I feel like the helpful Friar, orchestrating our _rendezvous technique_ so that the two subjects in question can get out of the city."

"Easy, Friar Laurence, we're not here yet," chuckled Neal and finished the last bit of their Bordeaux. "You know, I could use something to eat…"

"We can go downstairs to the hotel restaurant – or, there are some sandwiches in the fridge."

"Sandwiches," stated Neal flatly.

Mozzie smiled. "Right, restaurant it is. Just give me a moment to get dressed."

"So… museum?" asked Neal before they left their rooms.

"Museum," agreed Mozzie.

And it was set.

o o o

Another morning spent observing tram drivers had tired Moz out. He fervently hoped that Neal had finally managed to get him some manuals. After some consideration, he had also picked two types of trams as their possible target and stuck to them with his observations.

The day before, Neal had come up with four possible places where the tracks for trams and trains met. At half past nine when the morning rush hour was definitely over, Mozzie had gone to check out the places – and also to take a first look at the five tram depots of the city.

He was just on his way back to the hotel when he felt the hair on his neck tingling. Instinctively, his hand shot forward – and grabbed the young thief who was just trying to escape with Mozzie's purse.

"Not so fast, my friend," said Mozzie.

"You creep, let me go," shrieked the boy and dropped Mozzie's purse. Fully aware that they might cause a scene, Mozzie released his arm and just watched the kid as he got lost in the crowd.

_Got lost… from an ordinary citizen maybe. But not from someone who had once been a professional pickpocket himself._

Becoming part of the crowd himself, Mozzie slowly made his way to the place that _he_ would have picked after a narrow escape; a shadowed corner where he would catch his breath and get his stuff together before he returned back to picking his next victim. He carefully scanned his surroundings…

Ha! There was his boy.

Cautiously, as not to spook him, he approached the place where the young thief was leaning against a wall, breathing hard and shivering.

"That was a good lift," he said when he was close to the kid.

Startled, the boy looked at him with wide eyes. He could be twelve, thirteen at most, he had dark brown hair and brown eyes, and he was dressed rather poorly. Mozzie knew he had only seconds to talk to him before he ran away again.

"I need help to con someone," he said. "And I'm willing to pay well."

The kid still watched him warily. "What's the job?" he asked at last.

Mozzie smiled at him. "Let's get you something to eat. Then we can talk."

"I'm not going with you anywhere that's not public," warned his young companion.

"Smart chap," praised him Mozzie. "You'll go far. Now, do you happen to have a name?"

o o o

Instead of going back to the hotel, Neal received a call from Moz to meet at a local restaurant for lunch. He agreed to be at 12:30, once he settled his own task for the morning.

"Hey, Moz," said Neal when he finally arrived at the restaurant. "Sorry I'm late. I have some… who is this?" asked Neal when he noticed a boy sitting at the same table as Mozzie.

"Mr. Paul Bauer, meet your 'nephew' Rick Bauer. Rick, this is your 'uncle' Paul. Nothing like a happy family reunion, right?" said Mozzie with a smug smile.

The waitress chose just that moment to arrive.

"Hello sirs, welcome to our restaurant, here is the menu… Would you like to order something to drink?"

"Apple juice for junior and me," said Mozzie.

"And I will take a beer… this one, please," said Neal while pointing at a name on the menu.

"As you wish," said the waitress and left.

The table fell into a strained silence as Neal stared at Mozzie.

"So this is your friend?" asked Rick curiously.

Neal tilted his head. "Rick… would you give me a moment to speak to…"

"Felix. Your _brother-in-law_," cued Mozzie.

"Right," said Neal with a tight smile. "I need a quick word with_ Felix_."

"Sure," shrugged Rick and remained seated while Neal motioned Mozzie a few meters away from him.

"What the hell was that?" whispered Neal harshly.

"We can't go to the museum and just start asking questions as we want," said Mozzie in a low voice.

"Sure we can," opposed Neal immediately. "All we need is to find an enthusiast – "

"Who might wonder why two grown men are suddenly so interested in trains," said Mozzie practically. "Maybe not yet, but he could remember it once the news of our _job_ appeared in newspaper."

Neal glared. "If you had this planned, you could've told me. But you just went behind my back!"

Mozzie frowned. "I didn't _plan_ this, okay? But I met this kid, and suddenly, it made perfect sense. He can ask all the questions we want answered without being suspicious. So I recruited him. And you know just as well as me that he will be useful, so kindly _stop_ pushing me around and come back to the table before Rick starts to wonder what's going on and runs away."

Neal swallowed.

Mozzie's words did make sense. And he was glad to have him there, realized Neal, gladder than he would have admitted before.

"Okay," he said quietly.

Mozzie nodded, satisfied, and made his way back to the table.

"Look, Moz – " started Neal, but Mozzie waved his hand.

"Forget it. Let's focus on our business – and on our delightful lunch."

Their gazes met for a second, and a playful spark passed between them.

And just like that, the tension was over.

Neal sat back next to Rick and turned his attention to him. "Sorry that we had to leave. So tell me Rick, how did you and Felix meet?"

o o o

It wasn't as simple and quick as Mozzie would have liked. First, they needed to let Rick in on his part in their con. Afterwards, Mozzie took him to get some decent clothes while Neal went back to the hotel to 'dress down' a little to make their group more consistent.

And wasn't that an interesting development, ruminated Mozzie thoughtfully. Just a few months ago, when he put Neal into a suit, he had squirmed and clearly felt insecure. However, after his time with Adler, it seemed that suits had become Neal's second skin. He had never doubted the kid had it in him – but even he had been surprised by the easiness and grace with which Neal carried himself once his initial uncertainty was over. He would go far, realized Mozzie, to the highest places confidence men could go – and he felt a rush of pride at the role he himself had played in that development. Neal was meant for this life.

He frowned when he remembered their recent little argument. Even if it was spoken out of haste, Neal's accusation had stung.

Mozzie _hated_ it when his associates proved unreliable or outright betrayed him, which was the main reason why he preferred to work alone. He had to give that one to the Jedi – attachments _were_ dangerous, which was why he avoided them as much as he could. At first, the thing with Neal was born purely out of necessity, because he needed a front man for the Adler con. But it only took him so long before he realized he _really_ liked that kid.

If someone else had accused him… he wouldn't have let it go like that.

That was disturbing.

Who was he kidding – this whole job was disturbing, thought Moz as he watched Rick come out of the dressing room in a new shirt. The tram scheme was crazy – _coming to Europe with Neal _had been crazy. Even all the small cons he had pulled with him and Kate had been pushing a line that Mozzie had carefully drawn that night when he escaped from Detroit. Acquaintances were good – necessary, even. It was okay to pair with someone on an occasional job. But this thing with Neal – it was getting out of hand.

Why had he come to Europe with Neal?

It was because Neal had needed him. After Kate – no, Mozzie didn't need to open that door even in his mind – but the point was that Neal hadn't been himself, and Steven Soderbergh got it right when he realized that conmen usually got caught when they were off their game.

Just one con, Moz had told himself then. Just to make sure that Neal was okay. Then they could go their separate ways. Maybe later, they could pair up for another job.

It was seven weeks and three countries later when Mozzie had realized that he didn't _want_ to leave.

He still didn't want to acknowledge his reasons for staying.

Sure, they were having a blast. Neal was a pro at this kind of life; watching him at his game and putting their skills together was pure joy and fun.

But…

But there were also all the moments spent chatting, playing cards or Monopoly; arguing with Neal over Scrabble whether 'cynophobiac' and 'unscalablest' were real words; talking about art, planning schemes they'd pull if they had the right equipment, visiting restaurants and museums, seeing places, squabbling over newspapers (because there were secrets being buried, and Mozzie wanted to throw his hands in the air every time he was confronted with Neal's guileless ignorance of the matters around them)…

Then there were moments when Neal would open up a bit, and Mozzie would share a tiny piece of his own past… and those were truly dangerous, because some of the things there needed to remain hidden. Both Mozzie and Neal understood that.

"This one is perfect," said Mozzie as he drifted out of his thoughts when he saw Rick in his last outfit. "Let's pay for it and meet with _Paul_."

His doubts could wait for later, told himself Mozzie when they reunited with Neal.

For now, he had a museum to visit and a tram to steal.

Such was the life of a professional thief.

o o o

"_Wow_. Do you _see_ that? I never thought these things would be so big!"

Neal barely managed to suppress a grin. He had to stop himself from fondly patting Rick's shoulder.

Any doubts about whether the kid would help their cover dissolved shortly after they stepped into the museum. At first, the boy had been reluctant and hesitant; however, after a gentle probing from Mozzie, he quickly slipped into his role. The longer he watched him, the more Neal believed that the boy's excitement was in fact real. He wandered from one display to another, stared at models of boats, ships and steam-boats and eagerly devoured the information on the miniature plates by them. Despite their reason for being there, neither Mozzie nor Neal was immune to his enthusiasm. Neal found himself telling tidbits about ships and pirates while Mozzie began describing the fates of various famous ships, including his newest theories about the Titanic tragedy. Rick's responses were often somewhat sarcastic, but even that couldn't mask the spark of glee in his whole posture.

It was with reluctance when they realized they had a job to do.

Just as they had previously decided, Mozzie separated himself from them and began searching for a possible target. Meanwhile, Neal and Rick were enjoying themselves in the shipment part of the museum.

Right now, Neal's little companion was enthusiastically pointing out a huge metal anchor that had – according to its sign – belonged to an old cruiser that had been sailing across seas and oceans for nearly thirty years before it was badly damaged during a storm and sank only a few miles from the coast. Moving away from the anchor, Rick began playing with a model of a lock weir. He pressed a small black button – then a yellow light blinked, and water started filling the lock weir, a miniature boat moved through it and the whole thing reset.

As he observed him, Neal wondered about the boy's age. He began to suspect the kid was even younger than Mozzie had thought, and felt a strange pang of sadness, knowing that Rick was a street pickpocket. Yes, Neal was a thief, and he was proud of it – but he had chosen that path when he was eighteen, an adult and fully capable of making his own decisions. This boy – it didn't seem right, knowing that the choice might not have been a choice for him at all.

Internally, Neal shook his head. He couldn't concern himself with every wrong in the universe.

Discreetly, Neal checked his watch. They had been in the museum almost an hour, and there was still no signal from Moz. He reminded himself to be patient. If nothing else, their wandering in the museum helped them to establish a good cover. That was worth a little delay.

However, thirty more minutes later, Neal's patience truly started to run short. He pulled out his cellphone, only to realize there was no signal in the museum.

They hadn't thought of that.

He spent the next half hour looking for Mozzie. Finally, he noticed him a level above them. To his dismay, he wasn't observing the other part of the museum – he was standing by a guard-rail, his arms loosely laid on its edge, and he was watching Rick and Neal as they wandered from one show-case to another.

'_What's going on?'_ asked Neal in a wordless gesture.

'_I'll be right there,'_ replied Mozzie and started walking towards them.

"Hey, Uncle Felix, you're here!" exclaimed Rick with a smile.

The boy was a natural, thought Neal as he watched him run away to another show-case.

"What was that? How long were you watching us?" asked Neal in a low tone.

"I don't know what you're talking about," replied Mozzie innocently. "But, you might be happy to hear that I have found us a mark."

"Finally," exclaimed Neal. "Where is he?"

"We'll get there," replied Mozzie contently. "Just be patient. Play it cool."

"Right," sighed Neal.

Slowly, they moved to the train section of the museum.

Mozzie and Neal scanned the people around them. There was a museum guide standing by a column, an elderly man whose whole posture was barely hiding his boredom. Approximately thirty feet from them was a young couple with three children, who were admiring an old steam locomotive. Suddenly, the mother climbed up the stairs into the train's cabin, while the father lifted up the children, one by one, put them into his wife's arms and then climbed up to them as well. Sweet as they were, it wasn't what Neal was looking for.

His eyes passed over a girl laughing with her boyfriend; a man in dark blue jacket who briefly looked at the sign in front of an old wagon and then walked by; an old, graying man with a boy who might have been his grandson... he looked around, but he couldn't find the right person to match their needs.

He looked at Mozzie. _'Where?'_

Mozzie gave a small shook of his head and told Neal to continue walking.

And then Neal finally noticed him.

A thin, almost bald man in his mid-thirties, wearing a checkered shirt and green pants was half-lying on the floor not so far from them. In his hands was what looked like a very expensive camera. From what Neal could tell, he had taken dozens of pictures of a locomotive's buffers from various angles before he climbed to his feet, picked up a discarded copy-book and started furiously scribbling notes without any care for his surroundings.

Neal locked his eyes with Mozzie before he almost invisibly motioned to the man he just saw.

'_That guy?'_ he asked wordlessly.

Mozzie gave him an imperceptible nod of agreement. _'Let's do it.'_

Then Mozzie very gently touched Rick's shoulder and motioned him to the right direction. The boy looked up at him to make sure that he understood Mozzie's hint.

As quickly as possible, but still taking time for the necessary staring and admiration, they passed three beautiful stem locomotives before they got to the section with newer models, rails and point switches – right to their chosen target.

"These point switchers look like the real ones," said Rick aloud. The he looked at Mozzie and Neal. "Are there still switch-men taking care of them, or is that also controlled by computers these days?"

"I'm not sure," replied Neal.

"There are some motions for automatization of the point switchers," spoke Mozzie. "Supposedly, on some routes the switch-men already control the process from a distance."

"_WOW!_ Did you see this?" exclaimed Rick suddenly and almost ran the remaining distance to the locomotive where the balding man was now kneeling on the floor and taking photographs. "Paul, did you see this? I bet this is the same train as the one in my – ouch!"

He stumbled into the man's back and almost fell over.

"Hey, what are you _doing _here?" asked Rick when he got up.

"Rick – sir, I apologize for my nephew," said Neal as he swiftly walked to the place of the exchange.

"Are you all right?" asked Mozzie and pretended to be checking on the boy in concern.

Their mark stood up and checked his camera. Then he finally looked at them.

"You were taking pictures? Do you like trains? What were you photographing?" The questions seamlessly flowed from Rick's lips, so fast that their recipient had no time to answer any of them.

Mozzie shook his head in pretended disapproval. "Rick, it is not polite to bother – "

"Have you seen the point switchers?" asked Rick. "Do you know if the switch-men still use them?"

Finally, the man spoke. "Of course they do," he replied. "Although in some countries, they are being replaced by automatic systems. I overheard your conversation," he said with a glance to Mozzie and Neal.

"If I may ask, why were you taking so many pictures of the locomotive?" asked Neal politely.

"I am building a model of it," replied the man. "However, I wasn't sure about the precise placement of the lights and the buffers. There have been three types of similar models that people often mix up, and this is one of the signs to tell them apart. You see, in model Alpha 75, two of the pistons are placed a little differently than in model Alpha 55. Also, there are some differences in the engineer's cabin. _Transport Weekly_ had an article about them approximately four months ago where they stated the older model had a smaller coal scuttle, but that is simply not true. The model…"

As the man continued giving them technical details, Neal mentally dozed off – although he made it his point to appear interested.

He could almost feel's Mozzie's glee and determination beside him.

They had found the information source. Rick had successfully given them an opening. Now they only needed to con the man into giving them the information they needed – before he bored them to death with descriptions of piston-rods and aneroids.

Neal stifled a yawn. He hoped that this would be over soon and they would be able to go deal with the rest of their business.

o o o

When they began talking about their museum trip, they thought it might be a problem to get their target to talk to them. Now, they realized the real problem would be to make him shut up.

The man's name was Jan Peterson, as they learned after his long lecture about Adriatic locomotives and their 2-6-4 wheel arrangement. Ten minutes later (after they assured him that they found all this _'very interesting'_ and learned where the first electric locomotives had been made) he told them that he was an accountant, but that railway had been his secret love since he was a kid.

It was interesting, thought Mozzie clinically, watching someone with such a deep passion and knowledge for his subject. A while later (after they switched to first-names and after Jan 'enlightened' them about the diesel engines still in use for some types of trains), it also became quite annoying.

He exchanged a glance with Neal. His patience was about to run out. It was time to take action.

"You certainly know your stuff, Jan," interrupted Neal before Jan could start another of his enthusiastic speeches. "Tell me, how much do you know about contemporary railways?"

"Well, I try to keep in touch with the current situation," replied Jan, both pleased and embarrassed by Neal's praise.

"Do you have any idea about the train schedules in our area?" blurted out Rick. "There's a photography competition and I wanted to take a photo of a freight train at night, but – "

"Rick," spoke Neal in a mild warning tone.

"But Uncle – " whined Rick.

"Yes, I do know the train schedules," smiled Jan to interrupt a budding argument. "Of course, I only remember the most important trains… but one of my friends has detailed information. It's sort of his passion… he even knows which shunting locomotives are usually used at which times, would you believe that? I could introduce you… or if you want, I can get them for you."

"Really?" asked Neal with interest. "I didn't want to bother you, but that would mean so much to my nephew…"

"It's no problem," replied Jan earnestly. "It's great to see someone with such a passion for our railways."

"That's all our Rick talks about, the railways," said Mozzie with a hint of fond exasperation.

"Really?" Jan's face possibly couldn't have lightened up more. "You know, there is a club where the people who are interested in this sort of thing can meet… I've been a member since I was eight years old. I could give you a brochure – or you know what? Why don't you come with me this Saturday, Rick? You could all come – we always welcome new members!"

Jan gave them a broad smile filled with expectation.

Mozzie and Neal exchanged a quick glance.

No way. There was no way they would become members of this club so shortly before their planned heist.

"You see – "

"That would be – "

"I'd like to go!" exclaimed Rick, still in his role.

There was a short pause.

"Rick, why don't you and Uncle Felix look at the interior of the locomotive over there?" spoke Neal suddenly. "It seems that the previous family just left…"

"Good idea," said Mozzie, when the expression in Neal's face assured him that he knew what he was doing. "Come on, Rick."

Rick obediently followed him. Mozzie still managed to catch a bit of Neal's explanation.

"_You see, Rick is having problems at school. His parents won't let him join any clubs until his marks go up. This museum visit was actually a sort of reward for…" _

_Well played, my friend_, thought Mozzie with a secret smile.

He was quite sure Neal was on the way to getting all the information out of their mark.

In the meantime, he and Rick could look at the locomotive.

o o o

"So…?" asked Mozzie that evening when he and Neal were finally back at their hotel and alone.

"I got it all out of him," replied Neal. "Train schedules, the detailed track system, including all the weird turnoffs, signals and point switcher; plus the information on railway stations."

"How did you do that?" asked Mozzie as he opened a bottle of wine and once again settled into his favorite armchair.

"I told him it was a gift for Rick's birthday," shrugged Neal. "He was all over himself to help me."

"You played on his soft side… Nice, very nice. You have talent," said Mozzie with approval.

Neal took the armchair opposite him. "Speaking of someone's soft side…"

"Hmmm?"

"I know why you delayed during the museum visit."

Mozzie lifted his eyebrows. "I don't know what – "

"Jan told me he had been in that museum for three hours that day," said Neal. "There is no way you hadn't noticed him earlier. You saw that Rick was enjoying himself, so you delayed. Now tell me I'm wrong."

A pause.

"Moz."

"There is a certain… _possibility_… that your conclusion's truth value might not be null," replied Mozzie with a light blush.

Neal grinned. "I knew it!"

Mozzie frowned. "Hey – "

"It's okay," replied Neal. He made a small pause. "Honestly… I'm not sure I would have had the heart myself. When I saw him in awe of that R707 locomotive…"

There was a moment of silence.

"It felt good, to see the kid that happy," said Mozzie softly.

"Yeah, I know. Even if we used him and paid him, even though we won't see him again, I sort of… Yeah," echoed Neal. Then he pulled out of his reflections and gave Mozzie a mischievous grin. "He still stole two wallets in that museum, though."

"Are you surprised?" asked Moz. "He's a pickpocket. That's what we do."

"All right," said Neal. His tone said that the subject of Rick was closed. He stood up, went to the fridge and returned with a jar of olives, tossing one in the air and catching it in his mouth. "So, back to our plan."

"I think I've chosen the place where we'll steal our tram," said Mozzie. "There's an old depot that holds mostly old, historical trams."

"I don't think I want to paint a historical tram," frowned Neal. "After the museum today, it feels… wrong, somehow. It's like damaging a painting. I mean, I would forge a Monet any time… but paint _on_ it? No way."

Mozzie nodded. "In that case, you will be glad to know that the depot also has several common trams in reserve if something happens to the usual ones. The depot isn't closed for the night, but there is only one person guarding it. If we can distract him – "

" – we'll get our tram," said Neal with a smile. "Brilliant, Moz!"

"Of course, we can only steal our tram if I can drive it," said Mozzie.

"Well, then I believe it is a good thing I got you these manuals this morning," said Neal, tossing another olive into his mouth. He picked up his bag and pulled out several books. "I hope you appreciate these. I had to break into two schools to get them."

"Poor lad," murmured Mozzie. Then he frowned. "This isn't in English. Neal, I've looked up the few words for our museum visit and I can hold an everyday conversation, but – "

"I know. That's why I got you this," said Neal and picked up one of the books. "A technical dictionary," he said with a bright smile

Moz shot him a glare. "Right. I have three days to figure this out. This is absolutely fantastic."

He started to flip through the book.

"Moz…"

He looked up at the sound of Neal's quiet voice. He saw an unexpected anxiety and insecurity in his face. And he realized he had to change that expression on Neal's face.

"Thanks," he said lightly. "These books seem helpful. There are lots of pictures there. I think I can do it."

"You think so?" asked Neal. He hesitated. "Look… I wouldn't blame you if you…"

_If he what?_

"I'm sure I can do it," stated Moz confidently. When he saw that Neal still seemed worried, he decided to change the subject. "Now, tell me what Jan told you about the railway stations."

"We're gonna have a problem here," said Neal immediately. "Our whole railway station is directed by two people. They set the point switches around the station. No train can leave the station without them knowing or clearing its path."

"You're telling me we'll need to get inside the system," said Mozzie.

Neal nodded. "Precisely."

"Hmm… I think it's time that the railway station got a new worker," said Mozzie.

"Maybe," said Neal. "I think I'll take a look at it before we make a definite plan."

"All right."

"All right."

There was a pause.

"We have three days left," said Neal suddenly.

"We're gonna make it," said Mozzie.

"Are you sure?" asked Neal.

Mozzie looked at him.

"I promise."

o o o

Three days later, two hours before midnight, Neal and Mozzie were checking their equipment.

"Motorcycle?"

"Honorably 'borrowed'."

"Paint?"

"Hidden as we had agreed."

"The list of point-checkers; the data to fill into the railway station computer, the clothes?"

Neal looked at the stuff in front of him. "All ready."

"Okay," replied Mozzie.

Neal looked at him. "This is it, then."

Mozzie looked at the clock. "We still have almost two hours before midnight. Let's play cards."

Neal gave him a tense smile. "Okay."

They played a game, then another and two more. Finally, they realized it was time to go.

They looked at each other and stood up.

"You ready?" asked Mozzie.

"Sure," Neal replied.

And then he realized his hands were shivering.

Ever since the beginning, there had been moments when Neal was sure they would get caught, moments when he felt like he was just an inch away from snapping. But now he realized that the one moment, the thing that he had truly been worried about since he made his bet was – this.

He was waiting for Moz to get tired of him, to tell him that enough was enough, to leave. He had thought that he would lose him…

Like Kate, who left him.

Like the image of his father, who had been nothing but an illusion.

Like Ellen and his mom, who he had left when he had run away.

But Moz was still here.

Moz, his friend, was about to pull a crazy scheme with him.

Neal felt a real, deep smile slipping onto his face.

"Okay. Then let's go and steal our tram."

* * *

_Reviews are deeply appreciated. _


	4. Part III

**ANOTHER FORM OF ART**

**Summary:** When Neal and Mozzie come to Europe, they decide to pull a heist that the world hasn't seen yet. Pre-series.

_A/N: This fic has been betaed by **rabidchild67** and **November Leaving** and written for the WC pairing exchange._

* * *

**Part III**

It was a cold night. Both Neal and Mozzie had to put on their jackets. They walked a short distance from the hotel before they came to the alley where Neal had hidden their motorcycle. Neal checked his watch.

It was an unnecessary act, of course. They had plenty of time to get to the tram depot. Only after they stole their tram would they be on a tight schedule. And it _would_ be tight – it took Neal and Moz an hour to figure out how to pull the job with only two people. Even then, too much still depended on luck – and chance. But that was part of their life.

They put on helmets; not for safety, but because of several cameras that were easier to bypass this way.

They climbed on the motorcycle. Mozzie sat in the front, Neal slipped right behind him. After a moment of hesitation, he put his arms around Mozzie's waist. Mozzie turned the motorcycle on.

They drove through the night city, the lights shining on them. Twenty minutes later, Mozzie stopped about ten meters from the depot. They got off the motorcycle and left it leaning on a nearby wall.

The depot was veiled in dark. The only source of light came from a small separate cabin that belonged to the depot's guard.

"All right. Let's go over it once again," said Neal quietly. "I'll distract the guard with a call. That should give you long enough to pick the lock, open the gate and slip in."

"Then I pick a tram and wait," nodded Mozzie. "In the meantime, you sneak into the guard's house. Thirty minutes since your call – "

" – I'll create another distraction."

"I drive the tram outside – "

"I'll watch the guard and give you a signal when you can go. We'll have one, two minutes maximum for you to get on the street out of the guard's view," said Neal. "It will be close."

"I'll get the motorbike into the tram while you return and join me," said Mozzie.

"And then we drive the tram to our rendezvous point where it will meet our train," finished Neal.

"Child's play," said Mozzie dryly.

Neal smiled. "Then let's do it."

o o o

The depot was quiet. Rows of trams were hiding in the dark. The only source of light was a small torch, held in the hand of a thief who had just successfully broken in.

Unlocking the gate and slipping inside had been easy. There were no cameras – only an old alarm system that Mozzie had taken out in a matter of minutes. He walked past several of the trams. Finally, he picked his target; a nice, standard old red model that was still very common on the streets.

It took him a while to figure out how to get _into_ his tram, but in the end, he was successful. With a small feeling of victory, Mozzie climbed into the driver's cabin.

He took the driver's seat.

He adjusted the seat so that his feet would reach the pedals on the floor.

And finally, he looked on the driver's panel in front of him.

There were exactly twenty eight buttons; each of them had a different function. Mozzie noted that most of them had inscriptions – but he had already prepared for this moment. He pulled out his own labels and marked the most important buttons.

_Brakes. Lights. Point switches regulators. _

He already remembered them. Yesterday, he had practiced driving – he stood directly behind the driver's cabin, and as their route unraveled, he imagined pressing the buttons and pedals in his mind. But it would be preferable to play this safe – thus, labels.

Mozzie checked his watch. He still had sixteen minutes before Neal would create the second distraction. To Mozzie, it felt like an unnecessarily long delay – but he had agreed with Neal that it would be better to give the guard time to stop paying attention again after the weird phone call.

He wished he could turn on the lights. However, the windows were grated – which made the depot quite well-protected against the usual vandalism, but it also meant that they were transparent and a source light could attract the attention of the guard in his cabin.

Mozzie took a deep breath. Then put his feet on the pedals and pressed down the accelerator.

The tram didn't move.

Mozzie took another deep breath and pressed the accelerator again.

The tram still didn't move.

Mozzie felt droplets of sweat forming on his back.

He had told Neal driving a tram would be no problem. He had repeated it to him so many times that he had actually begun to believe it himself.

He looked at the driver's panel. Everything seemed to be in order.

Shaken by his failure, Mozzie still tried to keep a cool head.

He had read the books Neal had stolen for him. Afterwards, he had torn out the "important" pages, translated them and made notes. He pulled out his own self-made manual and started flipping through the pages.

Yep, the accelerator pedal was the accelerator pedal. That meant that Mozzie had absolutely no idea what he was doing wrong.

He checked his wristwatch. Six minutes.

Maybe there was something wrong with the tram. After all, this was a depot for old and 'backup' trams. That would be just his luck to pick the one tram that was broken.

Mozzie stood up, took a step back and glared at the whole driver's cabin. Then his face lightened up.

"A-ha!" he exclaimed and turned on a switch behind the driver's seat.

_Turn on the power supply switch. _

Mozzie slipped back into his seat and once again pressed the accelerator. Slowly, the tram started to move –_ backwards!_

"Sweet fancy Moses!" exclaimed Mozzie and immediately slipped off the accelerator. He once again stared at the driver's panel.

_Of course._

One of the switches, a small handle by his right hand, was turned into the wrong position. Mozzie corrected it, took a deep breath and tried to start the tram again.

This time, the tram obediently moved forward.

Mozzie wiped the sweat from his forehead and looked at his watch. He had exactly one minute to get the tram to the door of the depot. After that, Neal's signal to move the tram outside could come anytime.

He drove to the door. Then he stopped and climbed out of the cabin. He came to the door and pulled out his phone. The signal was weak, but enough to recognize that someone was calling.

Then, Mozzie waited.

o o o

The phone call distraction had worked like magic when all they needed was for Mozzie to pick one lock and get into the depot undetected. However, they had known that for actually removing the tram from the depot, they would need something bigger.

There was a smoke detector in the guard's cabin. There was also a cooking stove, a kettle and several potential sources of fire. If Neal set off the detector, the guard would be distracted looking for a fire and the alarm would hopefully make enough noise to drown out the sounds of a leaving tram. When the guard finally realized there was no fire, they would be long gone and he would be none the wiser that his depot was a tram short.

Neal checked his watch. Then he set off the alarm.

o o o

When Mozzie's phone rang, he thrust open the door of the depot, ran back to the tram, jumped into the driver's seat and drove to the depot gate, which Neal had already opened. He successfully used the correct button to switch the point switcher and drove out of depot area, until he finally stopped by the place where their motorcycle was waiting. He finally managed to lift it into the tram when he heard Neal's quick running steps.

"Everything okay?" he asked.

"Perfect," breathed Neal. "I closed the door and the gate, and I don't think the guard noticed a thing."

Mozzie gave him a grim smile. "Then let's go. We have barely begun."

o o o

Except for a few small bumps in the beginning when Mozzie was just getting the hang of the tram's braking distance, the way through the city went much better than expected. If not for the tight expression on Mozzie's face, Neal would have thought his friend was driving trams for a living.

Neal put on the signs that their tram was a 'handling ride', so the night passengers didn't even try to approach their tram. Finally, they got to the point of a branch line, where the tram tracks and train tracks met.

"This one has to be switched manually," said Mozzie, getting off the tram and using a level to change the position of a point switch leading to the branch. He then drove the tram on the branch, turned off the lights, the tram and reset the point switch to its original position – but Neal was no longer watching him.

He was busy looking for a suitable car.

He finally picked a nice model. He checked that the tank was full enough before he hardwired it. When the car's engine started, Neal felt a powerful wave of exhilaration. He couldn't help it. He laughed.

"Next stop, railway station," he said cheerfully when Mozzie hopped onto the seat next to him.

And they took off.

o o o

Half an hour later, they arrived at the railway station. That was where things would truly get tricky, as Mozzie had proclaimed earlier.

Thanks to Jan's information, they had a pretty good idea what they were against. It was a logical choice that Mozzie had to find and commandeer the locomotive. In the meantime, Neal had to infiltrate the railway station, pre-set the point switches for Mozzie and then reset them after Mozzie left so that they wouldn't cause an accident by mistake.

Moz thought back to their conversation the day before…

"_They don't have any decent security system," Neal had said during their planning. "It's just a matter of slipping in, doing the settings and getting out."_

"_You're forgetting one thing," said Mozzie. "These people who handle the station's signalization and point switches know each other. They also won't be easily distracted, because they're responsible for the whole station, which means that if they screw up, trains could crash – "_

" – _people could get hurt – "_

" – _so these people will be damn careful," finished Mozzie grimly._

_There was a pause._

"_Hey, Moz…" spoke Neal suddenly. His voice was unusually quiet and uncertain. _

"_What is it?" asked Mozzie._

_Neal still hesitated. "Don't you think it's a bit… risky, this… thing with the locomotive? If we made a mistake – "_

"_We won't," interrupted him Mozzie firmly. "I've triple-checked, and then triple-checked again. I've sextuple-checked. Besides, that's why we're doing this during the night when the railway station is mostly vacated. We have forty-two minutes gap at the station, during which no trains are leaving nor arriving. We can make it," he said seriously._

_Neal gave him a sharp nod. "Okay."_

_And so they continued planning._

"_If we just walk in, someone is bound to notice us and connect us to this later when the locomotive disappears," said Mozzie grimly._

"_That… is a problem," agreed Neal._

"_You could sneak in as a cleaning guy," said Mozzie thoughtfully. "Nobody looks twice at someone in the cleaning uniform…"_

_Neal gave him his most charming smirk._

_Mozzie frowned. "Well, that is exactly what we don't need. … On a second look, that disguise might not be enough. You attract attention just by existing."_

"_I can tone it down," shrugged Neal._

"_Of course you can," Mozzie waved his hand. "Still…" He gave Neal a longer look. Then he shook his head. "No, that's not gonna do it. We have to do something about your general prettiness. Let's give you a disguise!"_

"_No, absolutely not!"_

"_Neal – "_

"_I'm not letting you glue fake moustaches on me or give me freckles ever again!" exclaimed Neal in horror. He shuddered._

_Mozzie pouted. _

"_Look, I'll tone down the charm. Scout's honor," swore Neal._

_Mozzie had sighed. "Then I guess that will have to do…"_

Mozzie shook his head and returned back into the presence.

There was the locomotive he had picked. He climbed on and took a deep breath.

There was a time in Mozzie's life that he wouldn't hint about, not even to Neal. Nevertheless, during that time, Mozzie had spent five weeks learning to drive a train.

Together with the 'brush-ups' he had done recently, that knowledge meant that he might just be able to pull this off.

There were about a million buttons to turn on; handles to pull, switches to turn on…

Five minutes later, the locomotive came to life.

Once again, Mozzie waited for Neal's signal that they were free to go.

Finally, the signal came.

Mozzie looked at the dash-board before him.

Suddenly, he noticed a small wooden owl hanging on a key-ring on the locomotive's window handle.

_Maybe he should get himself a lucky charm. A spider, those were supposed to bring luck… or a little black cat. Or maybe he should get a miniature island girl… That was something to consider later._

Mozzie spread his fingers over the dashboards.

A moment later, the locomotive moved forward.

o o o

Back in the car, Neal put his shaking hands on the steering wheel and uttered a short, hysterical chuckle.

The train had been late. One of the trains had been fifteen minutes late.

Things could have turned out… bad.

But nothing happened. Everything was okay. Mozzie and his train were safely on their way.

Neal wiped the sweat from his forehead. Then he put on a smile and took of, back to where they had parked their tram.

If their calculations were right, Mozzie would already be waiting there for him.

o o o

Despite their worries, everything was going smoothly… more or less.

They were back at the tram and train tracks crossroad. Street lamps were shining on the street. As quietly and inconspicuously as possible, Mozzie was trying to attach the tram behind the train. While he was plugging away with the (stolen) coupling, Neal was supposed to paint the tram black with their previously hidden sprinkler. They were still safely on their schedule, but there wasn't much space for error.

Mozzie was busy searching his leather casing for a bigger spanner when he noticed Neal near by. He barely had the time to jump back before a flush of paint hit the spot where he had been standing.

"Hey! Careful! You almost hit me with that!"

Neal gave him a sheepish smile.

"Sorry, Moz. I didn't notice you."

"Oh, so _Mr. Painter_ remembers to put polythene cover on the ground, but he can't manage not to sprinkle on his friend," muttered Mozzie under his breath.

"What did you say?" asked Neal. He just moved away with the hose and was now spraying the area on the left of the tram's middle door. "Never mind; how far are you with our 'conjunction'?"

Mozzie wiped his dirty hands into a cloth. "Done. You?"

"Just give me another sec," replied Neal.

Mozzie rolled his eyes. "This isn't an art piece, Neal! It doesn't have to be perfect. Let it be and come!"

Neal tilted his head. "Hold on… there's still a red place on the rear."

"Neal!" exclaimed Mozzie quietly. "Come on!"

"Two seconds, Moz!"

Mozzie burrowed his hands in his pockets. "If we get caught, or if we derail, I'm blaming you for it."

"Done!" called Neal a few moments later.

"Good," said Mozzie in relief.

Critically, he looked at the scene before him.

On a railway close to a housing development, a locomotive was standing with a black tram attached to it. The tram was still dripping paint on the plastic covers that Neal had put around it to avoid bedaubing the street.

There was something almost poetic about the whole image… an image that should never be seen in any European city – that was never seen before and probably never would be again.

"Take a photo," Neal reminded him as he took the used protection sheets and stuck them into a nearby garbage container. "Rodgers might want to see proof that we actually did this."

Finally, they were ready to go.

"Out of a certain morbid curiosity," asked Mozzie suddenly when Neal climbed next to him into the train's cabin, "what is Rodger's part of the bet?"

Neal uttered a weird chuckle. "Wanna guess?"

"Considering our own task, trying to come up with something that might beat it creates some… _disturbing_ mental images," replied Mozzie cautiously. "I think I'll pass."

Neal chuckled again.

There was a pause.

"All right. Shouldn't we be going now?" asked Neal. "You know, since you said we didn't have enough time…"

"Come on, Neal! What _is_ Rodger's bet?" asked Mozzie.

Neal blushed as he ran a hand through his hair. "He – ah – he is supposed to steal the Prime Minister's artificial teeth."

Wham.

_Had Neal just said…?_

The Prime Minister's teeth.

Mozzie shook his head. "You two are never, _ever_ drinking together again. … And when we win this bet? I'm picking our next job."

"I'll let you pick the next three if we can finally move from this place," said Neal impatiently.

Mozzie shot Neal one last incredulous look.

Then he turned his attention to the dash-board and the train – together with the tram – moved off to the city limits.

o o o

They successfully passed all the point switches, until they finally got to their chosen old, unused branch that was deviating from the main railway. Neal watched as Mozzie got out and manually changed the point switch. Then they continued for a short while before they finally stopped, knowing that they were far enough from the main track not to be noticed immediately.

It was quarter past four in the morning, they were in woods thirty minutes past the city border – and they had just successfully completed their bet.

Once again, Mozzie opened the door of their tram. Together, they carried out the 'borrowed' motorcycle. Then Mozzie closed the door again.

Neal felt like he was flying.

He took the obligatory photos.

When he was done, he looked around for Mozzie.

Mozzie was standing in front of the tram, his hand half-raised as if he wanted to touch it. There was something soft, almost wistful in his face as he was staring at the black surface and the empty driver's cabin.

Neal gently touched his shoulder. "Moz. We need to go."

Wordlessly, Mozzie nodded and followed Neal to their motorcycle.

Turning his head, Mozzie cast a last longing look at the tram. Then he turned on the motorcycle and Neal once again took the seat behind him. Neal cast a last wistful look on the locomotive – but his and Mozzie's calculations were sure about this; there was no way they could manage to get the locomotive back to the railway station; trying to do that would be an insane and unnecessary risk. It was the only fault of the otherwise perfect heist.

They drove to the point-switch and Mozzie changed it back to its original position.

And then Mozzie drove, and soon they were back in the city – then they were in the hotel – and at 5:39 in the morning, Neal and Mozzie were back in their beds.

Right now, the stolen black tram attached to a locomotive was the only witness to their night's activities.

* * *

_A/N: I can't help it – I'm a Mozzie fan, and I usually can't get enough of him on the screen. This week's episode has been such a treat for me! _

_Thanks to everyone who has reviewed this story so far. I'll post the final part in the next few days. _


	5. Epilogue

**ANOTHER FORM OF ART**

**Summary: When they come to Europe, Neal and Mozzie decide to pull a heist that the world hasn't seen yet. Pre-series, "wacky hijinks and zany schemes".**

_A/N: Story has been beta'ed by **rabidchild67** and **November Leaving**.  
_

* * *

**Epilogue**

Two days after the tram heist, Neal and Mozzie were in the hotel, peacefully enjoying their breakfast. Neal was sipping his coffee and eating a croissant, while Mozzie was reading the local newspapers.

"Neal, look at this," he said suddenly and started to read aloud.

_**Daily News – Main section**_

_**Consequences of the incident in Prime Minister's house – the Premier's security is being replaced **_

_The Prime Minister is replacing his Security Guards after a bizarre incident that occurred on Thursday night in the capital. As we have previously informed, a yet unidentified person infiltrated the Prime Minister's house, bypassed the cameras and got as far as the Prime Minister's bedroom before the security noticed him and he escaped through the bedroom's window. _

_The Police have stated that they are intensively searching for the perpetrator, and that the only thing stolen during the incident were the First Lady's artificial teeth. In the meantime - _

"Wait a moment," said Neal and interrupted Mozzie, who was reading the article aloud. "Did you just say the _First Lady's _teeth?"

Mozzie grinned at Neal. "I guess this means we have won our bet."

Neal frowned. "This is just wrong," he said suddenly.

Mozzie raised his eyebrows. "I thought you didn't like politicians," he said in a mild question.

"Who does?" asked Neal rhetorically. "But she's not a politician, just a politician's wife. … Poor old lady."

"Before you get all wound up, have you read about us?" asked Mozzie.

Neal sighed and reached for a croissant. "No. But I guess you'll fill me in anyway."

Mozzie turned back to the newspaper. "According to the cops, we are a 'large, dangerous group of radicals that will soon be identified and captured'. However, the mystery lovers believe that the tram and train were transported either by a divine power, or that it was a 'hostile act' committed by aliens. Apparently, they support their theory with the fact that 'the hijacked tram has been painted black, which is clearly the 'color of death'."

"Nice," smirked Neal. "I myself vote for the 'mysterious aliens'."

"Don't you understand?" exclaimed Mozzie excitedly. "We're now a subject of conspiracy theories! UFO stories! Urban legends! "

"Wonderful," Neal rolled his eyes.

There was a short pause.

"So, I was thinking that we should take a short break," said Mozzie.

"Okay," said Neal.

"Not for long," continued Mozzie. "Just a week or two. Then, we can take up our bet's winnings and go after that Picasso."

"Yeah, about that." Neal straightened in his seat. "I… kind of changed my mind about the painting."

Mozzie stilled.

"I've been thinking about it," said Neal hurriedly, "and I agree with what you said. Stealing the 'Girl and Boy' would attract too much attention, and with Moser still looking for us… I think we should let it go."

Mozzie stared at him.

"_Now_ I know you missed April Fool's Day," he said at last. "Because you _definitely_ can't be serious."

Neal remained silent.

"You know we just risked our lives to steal that tram, right?" asked Mozzie calmly, but with an edge to his voice. "Neal, I swear, if this is another bet – "

"It's not," sighed Neal. He hesitated. He had reached this decision the day before they went for the tram, after he had stumbled across a piece of information. However, he was still a little afraid to explain it to Moz. He didn't want to risk their friendship over a possible difference of opinions.

But Mozzie had just stood by him during an insane stunt. Maybe, he would understand Neal's reasons… even if he wasn't completely sure about them himself.

Neal stood up and walked across the room to a small bookcase. He took out one book and opened it to reveal a colored leaflet from the local Art Museum and handed it to Mozzie.

Mozzie stared at it for a few seconds before his face filled with comprehension. "Oh."

"Mrs. Amanda is a seventy year old lady," said Neal quietly. "She is alone; the art is her whole world. I can't – I don't want to steal from her."

Mozzie stared at the leaflet for a little longer. Then he looked up at Neal and nodded. "I understand."

"You okay with it?" asked Neal hesitantly.

Mozzie folded the leaflet and gave him a small smile. "Absolutely… if you don't ask me to steal a plane now."

Neal laughed.

"Let's stay here for another week," said Mozzie suddenly. "And then we can go to Paris."

"Venice."  
"Rome."

"Amsterdam."

"Prague."

"The whole world at our feet," exclaimed Neal happily.

It felt good to be with a friend.

o o o

That evening, after they had finished their last game of Scrabble and when Neal was in the shower, Mozzie was nursing the remains of his wine and ruminating about the events of the past few days and weeks.

He had broken several of his own rules. He had pulled a risky heist without any real payoff, he had thrown away a good part of his caution and he had gotten too close to his partner in crime, which left him vulnerable and open for betrayal.

But, as Mozzie had already acknowledged several times before, Neal was more than just a partner in crime. He was also his friend.

Mozzie wondered how things would have ended if he hadn't gone with Neal to Europe, or if he had left after the first con. Maybe Neal would have done something stupid and gotten himself caught. Maybe he would have been okay, and he would have become one of the many acquaintances that Moz had all over the world.

In a way, Kate's leaving had brought Neal and Mozzie closer. Somehow, Mozzie was only mildly surprised when he realized he didn't mind the closeness one little bit.

_Kate. _The proverbial cat in the bag Mozzie would gladly ignore for the rest of his life.

But he had a bad feeling that Neal's obsession with Kate might not go away.

It wasn't that Mozzie disliked Kate. He was just never sure what to make of her. Sometimes, he thought that Kate didn't know that herself.

Suddenly, Mozzie realized he did not want Neal to deal with it alone.

He was already using his contacts to track Kate. But if he had to… he could do it personally. He might even return back to New York if that was what was needed.

_Would he really do that for Neal?_

The thought alone was somewhat scary.

Mozzie drank the last bit of his wine and got up from his armchair.

_Only the future would tell._

**THE END**_  
_

* * *

_For the few people who has reviewed and stuck with this story, I hope you enjoyed the conclusion!_

_As always, I'd like to know what you think of it – meaning, reviews are much appreciated._


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